Where the Wild Ones Run
by AdventurousAshley
Summary: Amelia Coulson is a normal girl. Grew up in Manhattan, struggling to pay her rent and maintain contact with her father, whose mysterious job keeps him separated from the world. But her world is about to change when she is fired from her job and finds comfort in an old-fashioned stranger. Captain America X OC. Starts pre-movie, follows movie plot line


Where the Wild Ones Run

_Common sense is not so common. _

_ -Voltaire_

Chapter One

The high-pitched squeal of a teakettle cut through the silence. I nearly jumped out of my very skin at the sudden noise, my book slipping out o my fingers and falling to the floor. A hand instinctively went to my heart, although, it had already jumped into my throat, pounding against my vocal chords. Looking up from my spot at my desk, I peered over my shoulder. There, sitting atop of the stove, was my old teakettle, steam erupting from the spout. A heavy sigh surpasses my lips as I stood from my chair and walked across the apartment. I was careful to avoid weak spots in the floor, where I had found the wooden tiles beginning to rot. Halting before the old style oven, I reached for the dial and turned the burner off, causing the kettles' cries to subside. My fingers curled around the handle, and I carefully lifted it from its burner. I then walked across the floor and returned to my desk. Lifting my small teacup in my free hand, I slowly poured the hot water into the cup, attempting not to burn myself. After filling majority of the porcelain cup, I returned the kettle to its place at the stove. Glancing briefly at the clock, my hands tightened into fists. It was almost noon, and the lunch rush would be starting in a matter of minutes. I hated calling in sick, but there was no way I would be able to work with this cold in my head. Clearing my throat, I fell into my seat and picked up the new package of tea, which sat atop a stack of papers.

With one small tug of the wrapping, he package ripped open and I removed the teabag, dropping it into the steaming water. Turning my attention away from my tear, I peered out of the window. Just five stores beneath my feet, stood the streets of Manhattan. It was quiet, excluding the soft patter of rain hitting against my window. This was something that I was not used to, this quiet. Growing up in New York, I had grown accustom to waking up to the shrill echo of car horns each morning. With a small grin, I twisted in my chair, grabbing my book from the floor. I planned on embracing this rare silence, and enjoying it with lemon tea and Shakespeare.

* * *

I sat there at my desk for a time period of two hours before I finally set my book down. As I carefully set it down, my eyes caught the bright picture frame tucked away at the corner of my desktop. My shoulders sagged slightly, and my lips fell into a deep frown. I met my fathers' smile, and I felt my heart sink into the pit of my stomach. He would always hoist me up onto his shoulders and gallop around like a horse, as shown in the picture. I was about five, latched onto his broad shoulders and squealing with joy, showing off the missing teeth in my smile. The corner of my lips twitched upwards in a small grin at the memory, and the desire to see my father it me suddenly. It had been so long.

A loud pounding echoed through my apartment and I sat up, wiping my eyes feverishly. I pushed myself out of my seat and hurried to the door. Rising to my toes, I closed one eye and looked through the peephole curiously. Standing in the hall with a bag of Chinese takeout, was a tall woman with dark curly hair framing her pale face. Her blue eyes seemed to stare right back at me through the peephole. Instantly, I lowered myself down to my heels, stepped back and pulled the heavy door open. I mustered up a small smile.

"Hey," she says quickly as she walks past me into my apartment. I blinked and closed the door before trailing after her. "So, I bought Chinese, and I have three movies in my bag," she explains as she tosses her bag to the floor and setting the bag of takeout on my desk. Whatever trace of a smile my face had previously held fell as I watched her fall onto my couch ungracefully.

"Aren't you supposed to be in class?" I question, approaching my friend with a hand placed on my hip. At this, Mary merely snorted in distaste, rolling her eyes dramatically as she did so. "You don't have to _go_ to class, Lia." She explains, sitting up and staring over at me. "All you have to do is _pass_."

Her tone is nonchalant and matter-of-factly. I remained stagnant, staring down at her through narrowed eyes. Mary gave me a look before holding up her hands to examine her nails, which I assumed were freshly painted.

"Didn't you say your parents are paying for your classes?" I ask curiously, cocking an eyebrow slyly. She grumbles and her hands fall into her lap before staring up at me, her lower lip sticking out slightly in a pout. When my expression didn't fade, she groans and falls back into my couch. "I'll go tomorrow." She declares, peeking at me from the corner of her eye. A small smile grows on my lips and I swiftly fell into the empty space besides her.

* * *

I awoke with a start, my heart racing and my breathing labored. Sitting up in my bed, my sheets fell into a heap at my lap. Reaching up, I traced my hand over my forehead, finding it to be sticky with sweat. A long sigh surpasses my lips, and my arm fell to my side. Glancing over at the clock sitting atop of my dresser, I frowned. It was five in the morning, what was I doing awake already? The shrill sound of a taxi horn caused me to nearly jump out of my skin and my heart skipped a beat in fright. It's funny how something I was so used to could still give me a good fright.

Kicking my legs off the edge of the mattress, I lifted myself up onto my feet. There was no way that I would be able to fall back asleep, and I had too many things to do to be sitting in bed. Yawning, I straightened out my back, rolling my shoulders backwards. As I mentally woke up, I felt like something was missing. My lips fell into a heavy frown as I looked around my room. The brick walls were dark, just like every other morning. The curtains were drawn over the window, cutting out the bright city lights, like always. After further evaluation of my room, I found everything to be in its place, so what was it that was bothering me?

Suddenly, I can hear the high-pitched ringing of my phone, and I spun on my heel. I reached down for it, but my fingers couldn't find the cold metal in its usual place besides my pillow. So that's what was out of place.

Stumbling through my room, I threw my sheets to the floor, glancing over my mattress. I then moved to my dresser, pulling the drawers open in a panic. Who the hell would be calling me at this time in the morning anyways? I finally found my cell phone; it was sitting on the wooden floor between my bed and dresser. Groaning, I kneeled down and picked it up in my hand to check the caller ID. I nearly dropped it upon seeing a name I had not expected. My fingers trembled and my heart sank into my stomach as I pressed the call button and lifted it to my ear. Swallowing loudly, my lips parted slowly. "Dad?"

* * *

Phil Coulson was a tough man to find. So, about a year ago, I just gave up and waited for him to find me. Little did I know, he actually would. I sat across from him, lifting my drink to my lips and taking a long sip. He dug into his cheeseburger, his cheek stained with ketchup. Setting my drink back to the table, I settled into the booth with a small grin. My father was doing well, this I could tell by the sparkle in his eyes and the brightness in his smile. I haven't seen or heard from him in about four years, at least now I knew he has been doing well. Sensing my stare, my father dropped his burger and looked up at me. I laughed at his expression and I motioned with my hand that he had ketchup on his face. He instantly picked up his napkin and wiped it away with a smile. Carefully replacing his napkin in his lap, he looked up at me, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "You sure have grown." He states slowly, taking in my appearance. "Your hair is longer, too."

I nod slowly, my lips twitching upwards into a friendly grin. "Yours has too, dad." I say with a small chuckle. It was true, and he ran a hand through his thick, dark brown hair with a laugh. "Well, I guess it has." He says, his hand falling back to the table before his eyebrows narrowed. "I did miss you, Amelia."

"Lia," I correct quickly, sitting up straighter. He cocks an eyebrow at this, and looks at me oddly. "What?"

"Lia," I restate for clarification. "I go by Lia now, Dad."

He nodded slowly, taking this in for a long moment. For some reason, I felt as if he was uncomfortable with this nickname, and it confused me. "Okay," he says slowly, clearing his throat loudly. "Why a nickname?"

I should have expected this question, everyone asked it. But something about the fact that he asked it set me on edge. Perhaps if he were around, he would already know the answer. My lips fell into a frown. "When I was studying at the University, professors were never able to pronounce my name correctly, no matter how simple it was." I chuckle quietly "So, I made it easier on them and just used Lia. It just stuck I guess." As I finish, his face bursts into a smile. "University?" he asks proudly, his eyes widening. "Really? Which one? What are you studying?"

With each question he asked, I sunk further into the booth nervously. I felt my stomach drop and twist uncomfortably. "I," I clear my throat and push a stray strand of hair behind my ear, lowering my gaze. "I actually dropped out. I'm a waitress now." His face fell, and it was a stab to my heart. "Oh," he says, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I see."

We must've sat in silence for ten minutes after that, and during this time, I gathered all the courage that I could hold. "So, Dad.." my voice fell and I swallowed nervously. "Where have you been?"

He frowned deeply, staring at me from across the booth. He set down his milkshake and straightened his suit jacket. "Amel-" He was cut off by my stare. "Lia," he corrects sharply. "You need to understand that you were no part of my leaving." He raises his eyebrows. "Do you understand that? I was gone for work."

"This work that I still don't know anything about…" I say quietly, crossing my arms over my chest, puckering my bottom lip in a pout. He huffed out slowly, and shook his head slowly. "I don't want you involved, can you at least understand that?"

I shrug and remain silent, staring over at him with narrowed eyes. He reached up and rubbed his temples. "Okay, how about this." He says slowly, raising his hand as an idea causing his eyes to light up. "Next time I will be leaving for work, I'll at least let you know, and call you once a week." A smile grows on my lips, and I nod, reaching my hand across the table. "We have a deal." I say as he takes my hand in his, and we shake on it.

* * *

Everyone has a friend that lacks common sense, and for me, that friend was Mary. I pulled my coat tighter around my body, trembling from my head to my toes. It was the middle of November, and the winter weather had already settled into New York, and Mary called me wanting to go out for ice cream. As ridiculous as it sounds, I agreed to it, and was no regretting it. Besides me, Mary seemed oblivious to the cold, and twirled around merrily. She paid no mind to the people she bumped into, and merely continued on her way with a smile. It took a lot to affect Mary, this I knew. Her spinning came to a halt and she settled for just walking besides me. "So," she says slowly, dragging the word out in a high-pitched voice. My eyebrows scrunched together, and I turned to glance at her briefly before again turning my attention forwards to avoid a collision. "You seem to be in a good mood."

It is a simple statement, and I wonder what clues she picked up on to come to this conclusion. I sigh heavily, watching my breath fog out before me, dancing in the cool air and the bright lights. "Really," I mumble flatly. I was not in the mood for Mary's questions, which I knew were just hanging on her tongue, soon to be released. Mentally, I prepared myself for the inevitable onslaught. "Is it a boy?"

I nearly gagged at this and I whipped my head around to stare at her, my eyes wide. "You think I met a guy?" I ask humorlessly. She nodded simply, her lips forming a firm line. "You've got to be kidding me…" I trail off, shaking my head as we come to a halt at a cross walk. She grabbed ahold of my arm, looking at me seriously. "Am I right?" she questions, her voice quiet, so quiet that I barley had heard it. Sometimes, I think she forgets that she lives in New York, and that she needs to speak up to be heard over the extra ruckus. "Mary, I didn't meet anyone." I say slowly, pausing to let it sink into her thick skull. She nodded, lowering her head slightly in disappointment. If there was one thing I knew about Mary, she loved the thought of love, and she desired it so badly. She was a hopeless romantic, to put it simply.

"My dad called," I explain in a low voice. "And we went out to dinner."

She stared up at me, her blue eyes bugging out of her skull. "Seriously?" She gasps, a smile spreading on her lips. "So he is alive!" she squeals joyfully. I roll my eyes and cross the cross walk as soon as the light turns red. We moved with the crowd, managing to get caught right in the middle of it. "Tell me everything." She says with a smile. I looked up at her and grinned before quickly glancing around the sea of shoulders and heads, which stood much taller than myself. I then looked over at my friend and leaned closer as if I were confiding a secret with her. "Okay, so this is what happened."

* * *

Closing my apartment door behind me, I tossed my keys onto the kitchen counter with a flick of my wrist. Rolling my jacket off of my shoulders, I hung it on the hook and walked into the kitchen to the phone. With a press of a button, the voice messages started playing. "Three missed calls," the voice states and I turn away to the stove. I kneeled down, pulling my kettle out of its drawer. I stood and moved to the sink to fill it with water before turning the burner on and setting it carefully onto the metal holder. "First message," the voice says. There is a beep before another voice is heard in my apartment. "Hey, Lia." I can tell instantly that it's Derek, and my lips rise into a small grin. "So, eh… I have something that you should know. Give me a call when you get this message." There is another beep before moving onto the second message. It's Sandra, the manager of the restaurant. "Good evening Amelia." She never gripped the concept of nicknames, and insisted on calling me by my given name. "I was hoping that we could talk. Perhaps you could come in early tomorrow?" There is a long pause and I turn to stare at my phone with a heavy frown. There was something about the tone in Sandra's voice that put me on edge, but I couldn't tell what it was. "I will be seeing you soon, Amelia. If you receive this message, please come into work at five forty-five instead of six, so we can talk. Goodbye, Amelia." There is just a short pause before the very last message.

It's silent. I walk towards the phone, eyeing it curiously. Perhaps the message wasn't recorded correctly? It was the sound of heavy breathing that proved me wrong, and I jumped slightly, my eyes narrowing. "Amelia?" It was my father, and the tone in his voice worried me. "Hey Lia… So, you know how we agreed that I would let you know if I were to leave again for work?" My hearty sunk, I knew where he was going with this. I had been expecting it, but I didn't want to think that it would happen so soon. It was only a week ago that he had contacted me. "I have to leave again." He says slowly, clearing his throat as he does. "I don't know if I will be able to call you when I'm away, but I promise, I'll try my best." He falls silent for a long moment, and I can feel my heart sinking. "I love you, Amelia," he states slowly and clearly. There is a loud sound in the background, and I wince at it. I can't distinguish what it is exactly and before I can think it over, my father talks again. "I'll try my best to stay in contact, I promise." That's where the message ended, and I can't help but wonder if he would really try, or if he was just trying to comfort me and ease the sudden blow.

Did I only get my father back just to loose him again?


End file.
